Sometimes I think of grief as an ugly, small, old, black dog that hides in the corner, It widdles on the rug and you walk through it bare foot after not seeing it. And it makes you angry but it isn’t the poor old dog’s fault anymore. It just is and you have to clean up the mess and deal with it til the next time.
Okay, I name it. I’m back to be depressed about it. It’s there and I can’t ignore it. I’m being bad. I’m not picking up the phone or answering it. I’m not going anywhere but work and I’m pissed in a small simmering way. BIG GRUMPY HERE.
I have to laugh a little though. One of my friends at work has been giving me these grief pamphlets they use at her church and you get one at different intervals of time. She gave me the 3rd one today and it has a lot of things on the anger in it. I had to laugh. It talks about being angry at God. Which god or goddess do I choose. A polytheist has a real problem here. Wipe that one off my list.